


Praise

by robotfvckers



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Age Difference, Cloaca, HC krogans with two dicks but there's one mention, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Xenophilia, buyer beware lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Kallo takes Drack's praise to heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self indulgent, written 11 days before the game's release. orz Hope you enjoy

To his credit, Kallo waits until the end of his shift to make his retreat. He is, if nothing else, a professional, and he wouldn’t surrender to these base emotions, not at the expense of his duties.

Still, that stubbornness crumbles once the door closes with a quiet hiss behind him. He scrabbles at the hidden clasp at the base of his neck, and the line catches twice as he struggles to unzip his suit. It’s cool in his quarters, but he feels on fire, the words still echoing in his head, more vivid and undeniable now that he had no screens to study, no courses to plot.

Kallo leans back against the cool metal, gasping at its chill, but it’s secondary to the hot slide of his hand down the flat, damp plane of his stomach. His free hand shucks his suit lower on his hips, the material peeling away with a slick, wet catch.

 _Fuck_ __. He’s soaked the inside of his suit already, green flush painting his cheeks with shame, but that doesn’t stop his hands from dropping low, slipping smooth and needy between slickened thighs. The first touch pitches him forward, has him gasping. Kallo does this so infrequently, doesn’t need it. Not really. He tries to straighten himself, but he catches his fingers around the rim of his dripping slit, engorged and ready to spill, and his legs almost give out.

Kallo clings to the memory as his fingers tease around his hole, not quite slipping inside, another gush of slick catching against his trembling fingers.

 _Nice work, kid_. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he repeats Drack’s words over and over, a corrupted audio on loop that he can’t close out. Doesn’t want to ignore. His voice is so, so, deep. Ancient like the bones he wears as armor. His mother’s mother’s mother, all the way up the line, could’ve known and laid with the same krogan who overrides his thoughts like a nightmare.

It does nothing to quell his desire, speeds his fingers as he starts to sink into himself, harsher, meaner than he would otherwise. How would a millennia-old creature touch him? Patient? Practiced? Would his species bely that experience, force his hands rough and aggressive against a race he could’ve fed upon as a delicacy a few centuries ago?

He praised. He praised _him_. Two fingers, three, sheer will keeps him on his feet. Drack wouldn’t let him fall. He would pin him against the door, able to so easily crush him but he wouldn’t: would take what he wants from him while whispering sweet words in his ear. How good he is being for his elder, how pretty he is, rosy and rust-colored with a sweet flush of green.

He wants to laugh at how ridiculous it sounds, how he could capture the attention and be adored by one who has seen so many things and known so many experiences. Still, he dreams, yearns, fucks himself hard on his own fingers while his knees buckle, one hand planted against his gasping mouth as the other pistons between his legs.

Drack would fuck him, bounce him on his lap while Kallo moaned in his grip, helpless to stop Drack from taking him, breeding contracts be damned, the first touch he would ever receive from another being. The krogan would fill him up good, release inside him, chuckle as Kallo gasped into his neck while he lined up his auxiliary cock, ready to take him for a second time.

He swears, bites his hand so hard it bleeds as he sobs brokenly into his own flesh. He nearly works his whole fist inside him; Drack would be that large, and his stomach flutters, muscles clenching in a vice as he convulses around his hand, the first, hot thick rush of cum squirting past it, splattering against his suit and his thighs, coating his lower body in a thick, slimy mess. He pumps his hand inside him a few more times, milking it out, wants to pretend he has the stamina for another round, grasps pathetically at that stuttering release, that’s enough, for now, this one time; it’s all he needs he swears, enough to eliminate this stupid, pathetic crush as he finally sinks to the floor in a boneless heap.

Kallo doesn’t move for a long time. His thighs grow tacky, then chilled. His breathing finally returns to something resembling normal and he stops trembling from the aftershocks. Finally, finally the haze, the adrenaline gives way to exhaustion, and he strips, pulls himself into the cold sheets of his bed, falls asleep with the phrase pulsing, sluggish and dreamlike, in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> For more writings, I'm on [tumblr](http://www.robotfvckers.tumblr.com).


End file.
